To Root a Saiyan
by Jameta of the Darkness
Summary: Non Yaio. Jeice falls headoverheals for a fullblooded female Saiyan. 08.24.2006 Chap 4 posted. Sorry for wait. XP
1. Of Aussies and Outlaws

_**A/N:** It has been over four years since I worked on this piece. However, I made a promise, and I intend to fulfill my word. As such, all chapters of this story will be revamped and the plot continued thereafter. I do not have a beta reader, although certain things can always be improved. With that in mind, if you plan to give criticism, please be constructive (as in use the critiquing skills your teachers have taught you)._

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_**To Root a Saiyan**_

Chapter 1: Of Aussies and Outlaws

"How am I? I'm bored shitless."

Jeice sighs bluntly, catching a long-neck with one hand as is slides across the counter-top. The other hand props up his face, though with each moment it threatens to slip out and land upon the stained wood below. There simply seems to be no challenge in life anymore: he could wipe out all life on a planet without breaking a sweat, has more cash than he knows what to do with, and could swoon any female of his choosing. Sure to the average soldier this sounds like the perfect life. Yet for the orange mutant, the dream had become dull and seemingly pointless.

A gloved fist falls sharply to the bar top, leaving a deep impression. This has to stop— he is a Ginyu, after all.

"Easy there," pipes-up the gnarled tender. He had finally recovered from Jeice's earlier reply, and was returning to clean a beaten glass stein. "I'll hav' ta' charge ya fer that."

"Oh, is someone throwing a tantrum?" a low, familiar voice hisses from behind.

The warrior grits his teeth. "God, I hate him," he thinks, and nonchalantly turns on his stool to face his adversary. His dark auburn eyes eventually meet a pitch-black pair, and he calmly retorts, "What are you gonna' skite about today, Figjam?"

"The young male's voice is as vibrant as his gleaming ginger exterior, colored by a thick accent and unique vocabulary. To an Earth native, both would be surprisingly recognizable as Australian. To a certain Saiyan Prince, however, it was just the rambling of a mutant.

"I have neither need nor want from you," huffs Vegeta with crossed arms. His trade-mark scowl skillfully masks his lingering confusion as his stare moves from Jeice to the bar keep. "Rumor has it that a certain female frequents this pathetic dump."

"Well, you're right about one thing," the other high-ranking fighter states, careening his neck to survey the surroundings once more: a filthy tavern with low-kept chair and tables littering the floor, some knocked over from riots, and a counter that is only clean for the sole reason that the bartender has the decency of staying healthy and wipes it down after ever close. The crowd is a mix of low-lives with nothing better to do and back-stabbers conning their way into others' pockets. Drunks yell loudly at one another while playing demeaning games of poker, as whores seduce those still sober carrying fat wallets. He would not be wasting his time in this pungent atmosphere of thick ale and mindless ecstasy if he weren't so desperate to escape his ordinary lifestyle.

"If yer lookin' fer Kerrigan," pipes the tavern, striding slowly over to them while drying a glass, "Ya' won't make sport of 'er easily. Tat outlaw don't talk t'anyone but me, and even tan, she don't say much."

"And with a bush pig for a mum, you won't have much luck with her, anyway, if you meet her!" exclaims the shorter of the two.

"Shut-up!" shouts the taller, though still short, soldier. "What the hell is that suppose to mean, in any case! And you would hardly fair as well as I would with a female Saiyan!"

Jeice pauses and lifts an eyebrow. "A what-now?"

"Damn right, she is," interrupts the gruff keeper, not looking at either of them, "Never seen such p'wer b'fore in me life. Be careful ya' don't get yerselves killed if ya' approach her."

As if on cue, the saloon doors fly open, nearly swinging off their hinges. The room goes quiet as a shadowed stranger dressed in a ragged brown clock and an odd, almost second-kin suit strides in, a deafening, sharp rattle rippling through the still air with each land of large, heavy black boots. Carefully, the figure takes a seat a few stools away from the orange warrior, and lightly waves a raised index at the keeper. Jeice can make out the blend of jade and ebony in the armor molds, though a hint to what gender (let alone race) the individual is cannot be seen; heavy breathing hisses out through a masked helmet as gloved hands shift the cloak back behind. Gradually, the normal bustle of noise returns, the regulars apparently used to this occurrence.

"The usual?" poses the tap vendor. The stranger nods, retaining its silence, the folds of the outfit moving like muscle.

"H ya' go," the owner finishes, placing a tall class of clear, sparkling crimson liquid down before the intimidating customer, and backs away.

"I bet you're not that tough," remarks the Ginyu, casting a smug look in the concealed being's direction; a simultaneous gasp from the crowd follows.

"I bet you haven't slept with one female in your entire life, let alone be a decent performer in bed," bites a feminine voice from behind the synthetic gear. Slowly, the helmet slips back, revealing the head of a beautiful young woman.

"Ouch," a few men in the back cringe.

"You take that back!" yells Jeice, jumping to his feet.

"Prove me wrong," she boasts.

"Pardon me," interjects his royal counterpart, facing the female, "are you the Saiyan named Kerrigan?"

"What do you want with her?"

"I am Vegeta, Prince of our race, and I wish her to be my mate."

"Kerrigan's note interested."

"Fine: I demand it."

"And outlaws are supposed to obey orders?"

Before he can reply, she takes her drink and throws it in his face, shocking everyone— normally she would kill someone if they did anything remotely close to that.

"Get out of my sight," she growls, shattering the glass against the bar shelf.

Unable to say anything through his rage, the noble storms out of the building, leaving the other for his turn.

"So you want me to prove myself?" he asks, moving closer with a smirk. "How about you and me go back to my flat and shabo?"

"What the hell does 'shabo' mean!" she revolts, getting off of her stool to draw a more comfortable space between them.

"At my place," he grins suggestively, "I'll personally show you."

"If this is offer to get me in bed, no thanks."

"Awwww, come on, Miss Kerrigan. I've never met a Sheila like you b'fore."

"First 'shabo', and now 'Sheila'? What language are you speaking?"

"I'll tell you what those mean if you come with me."

"Excuse me."

In a hurried fashion, she pays for the drink and rushes out of the pub, not saying another word to him. Quickly, the fighter follows after her. After a few minutes of twisting and turning down endless alleyways and darkened streets, he intercepts her path. Though he is a head shorter than she is and must strain his neck upward to look at her in the eyes, he is undaunted and poised to fulfill his plans.

"Will you just leave me alone!" cries alien Amazon.

"No!" he retorts.

"And why not!"

"Because…" he stops, unsure if he should continue. His shoulders fall with his eyes as he answers. "Because you're right. I've never slept with a woman." A cocky grin spreads across his face, and he lifts his eyes back to hers. "But that will not be true much longer. Kerrigan, I am a high member of the Ginyu Force, and--"

"And what? You order me to share a bed with you!" she bites. "Weren't you paying attention! **I** am an outlaw! I DON'T CARE!"

Just as he is about to answer her, a thick white fog rolls in, and she is gone without a trace. The smirk slips off his lips down a gutter drain, leaving him in the lonesome cold of a desolate road in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

"Hey, Jeice," Burter greets, sitting next to his friend, "You're starting to look a little like me. What's up?"

"Oh, it's just this girl," replies the other dismally, not looking his favorite colleague in the eyes. Now sits in a richly adorned lounge, filled with those of high class and expensive lavishings, rolling a cabernet in an un-stemmed wine glass. This is the way he is accustomed to, as well as absolutely loathes.

"What about her?"

"Well… she declined my advances."

"Don't let her get to you, Jeice. She's not important if she won't accept your offer."

Sighing, the dwarf finally raises his sights to the burgundy optics of his comrade, remembering the breath-taking woman he had seen displaced in a disgusting pile of filth: her eyes had gleamed with a fire deep within their emerald pools, which were held with rose petal lips by softly tanned skin, all wrapped perfectly with a river of raven hair tucked neatly into her suit.

"She's a Saiyan Shelia fugitive with an attitude," he finally comments.

"A Saiyan? She's a monkey? Now I really don't see your point."

He flashes the rest of the spirit down his throat and pushes the glass aside. "She's the only spunky for me, Burter."

Sliding off of his seat, the short assassin walks in sorrow across the floor toward the doors. True, Saiyans, even the highest class, were considered one of the lowest races in social order of Freiza's force of warriors. But now, with this 'Kerrigan', he cannot say that **all** of them are simple apes with tails; the problem is he cannot have her. Making little effort to open the exit, he is not surprised when the doors quickly slide shut upon him when he is outside, but does not really notice, his mind fixed on other matters. A steady rain had begun to fall.

"Why am I so bloomin' attracted to her!" he thinks out loud as he strides down the darkened streets, "I'll never be able to get in 'er ramies! And she's a bloody Galah Saiyan! A drongo monkey!"

Glancing at himself in a murky puddle, he stops, and looks back at his reflection, grimacing at the truth.

"And I'm a pint-sized orange freak," he finishes, bringing his foot down upon the image as a tear rolls down his cheek. Who is he kidding? With one gaze upon her, he has fallen hopelessly in love, and will probably become the laughing stock of the whole guild.

"I didn't expect you to be out in the cold," mocks a voice that sweeps past him.

"K-Kerrigan?" the fighter starts, lifting his head up.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she mutters, continuing forward.

"Wait!" he cries, running up behind and grabbing her hand.

"What!" she yells angrily, whirling around to face him. "I have a job to do!"

"Oh, sorry," he begins. "Need any help?"

A sharp laugh answers him, her hand pulling out of his grasp and her legs turning back on their original course. Yet hopeless determination spurs Jeice on, and he catches up to her.

"Do you have a place to stay?" he inquires.

"Actually…" slips her tongue, her mind focused on some undisclosed task; a shake of her head beings her back to reality, and she snaps, "Why should I tell you anything! Just fuck-off already!"

The female brigand briskly walks ahead of him, using her longer legs as an advantage; though she is not able to shake her infatuated stalker, she does succeed in reaching her target location: a gloss-white dome building with extravagant florescent lighting. Streams of neon orange, pink and yellow spell out in cursive the name 'Locusta' high above the wet pavement before curling down and around the exterior. It is the lounge Jeice just left.

"What are you doin' here?" he questions as he slides up next to her against the outer wall.

"If you really must know," she answers with a roll of her eyes, "I have a job here."

The Ginyu cocks an eyebrow in confusion, but before he can inquire further, a delicate hand covers his mouth. He readily complies with the gesture, her light touch captivating his senses. His attention is only roused back to reality when the hand swiftly withdraws and the outlaw slips quietly after a departing patron. Caution suppresses curiosity, and the male holds-back; finely trained eyes trace the other's every move, watching her stalk the portly purple alien. Through the rain, he sights a minute glint off a sharp edge as the Saiyan lifts her arm to the height of the humanoid-squid's neck. He holds his breathe; a moment later, the patron falls to the ground, not a sound escaping him. The assassin continues forward, her pace brisk once more. Throwing his previous caution to the wind, Jeice dodges the still-warm corpse and rushes after her.

"Looks like you really need a safe house now," he jests casually. Rounding a corner, his eyes fall upon her soft, browned skin. Rain gently splashes and rolls down her forehead and cheeks as they continue forward, the female retaining her silence.

"Please, come stay with me. There are no decent lodges around 'ere, and you shouldn't have to put up with any inconveniences now. I promise I won't do anything to trouble you."

"Alright…" she gruffly answers. "My ship broke down, anyways, and it won't be ready till tomorrow. But then I'm getting off of this dump of a satellite, and you're not coming with. And don't expect to get any play t'night, either!"

* * *

The young man cannot help but watch every part of her move carefully. In the light, she is absolutely radiant; it is a wonder she is not a goddess. With the suit gone to dry and let her perfect skin breathe, he can trace her flawless curves over and over, never once getting tired or wishing for more. Well, that is not true, but he is not going to do anything that might send her raving. Just her presence sends him into a spell, and her exposed appearance in a silk dress of pearl covering her forbidden satin areas as she sits upon his intended love seat is enough to arouse him greatly. Thank goodness he had the gown lying around, and thank the gods she did not want to sit close to him!

"Will you quit staring at me!" shouts Kerrigan with annoyance, glaring furiously at him.

"Ahh, oh, err, I-" he begins, startled at hearing her voice, for they had been sitting in still quiet for what seems like hours.

"I don't see what's so exciting about me," she fumes, looking away with discontent, and asks herself, "Why the hell are men always gawking at me?"

"Because you're stunnin'."

"And what is that suppose to mean? That my face paralyzes gaping idiots?"

"No, it's just…well, I don't yabba too well when it come t'my emotions."

"'Yabba'? Will you stop speaking in riddles! "

"Alright."

Swallowing hard, he strides across the room to her. Leaning over her sitting body, he gently kisses her lips, falling to his instinctual desires. Taken back by his actions, the outlaw lets him slip into her mouth a little, a dark part of her taking over a bit. He draws back slowly, keeping his eyes closed, his heart fluttering in his chest. For a few minutes, they drift in silence, letting the moment sink in.

"God, I hope that wasn't a fizzer," he breathes.

"That…" she whispers, a small, unsure smile sprouting on her face. "That was nice."

"Dinkun? I-I mean, really?"

"Dinkun," she repeats with a laugh, then becomes serious. "But…why did you do that?"

"I…I think I've fallen in love with you, Kerrigan."

Slowly, she shifts on the couch away from her host, stands, and takes a few steps forward, motioning toward the door. Quickly, he stands up, not wanting to lose her. Damn him! He should have none better than to do something like that! Now for sure she would never even give him a second thought, and he would be thrown off the Ginyu force if this whole thing got out. His last chance is to plead for pardon and her renewed stay.

"Kerrigan, I'm sorry," begs Jeice, unconsciously stretching a hand out toward her. "Please, don't go. I didn't mean anything."

"You didn't do anything wrong…"

Her shoulders droop and her hands grasp her upper arms tightly. She shifts in place, uneasy and insecure. Suddenly, her energy fluctuates, her clothing rippling up and hair rising on end.

"What the hell am I thinking!" screams the Saiyan, flinging her arms down to her sides.

"I'm so sorry, Ker—!" the diminutive fighter apologizes rapidly, tears falling from his eyes. He was so stupid, touching her! Damn him, damn him!

As unexpectedly as her rage fluctuated, it dissipates, and she drops to her knees. Broken sobs escape from her shaking frame. The other scrambles toward her, tripping over his own feet, and gently places his hands on the sides of her arms.

"I don't even know your name…" she murmurs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

He chuckles and warmly squeezes her. "Call me Jeice… or whatever you like."

"Why do you love me?" she sniffs, fidgeting in his grasp. He opens his mouth to respond, but makes no answer; he had not thoroughly thought the matter through. Instead, he ha d relied on his subconscious drive up till now.

"If you truly love me," she interrupts, "you must do something first."

"O-Of course!" he stammers, somewhat shocked at, and yet comforted by, her words,

"I need you to perform… well, a tradition with me."

"Come again?"

"Jeice…" her upper body steadily turns toward him, vivid green eyes meeting his gaze. A light pink blush blooms upon her cheeks. "I've never met a male so persistent like you… and now I see that you are also willing to care for me, too." She pauses to smiles and bat her eyes a bit. "The way you talk is amusing, too."

As she finishes, he wraps his strong span around her torso and brings her close, squeezing gently. Her compliments made him light headed, and he buries his face into her long dark mane, welcoming the female's sweet aroma that wraps about his head. Breathing deeply, he takes in the scent of fresh cut flowers, especially rose and lilac, while trying to think of a motion to express his joy. The moment cuts short, however, when the young woman fully turns around to face him.

"Oh, Jeice…" she sighs, placing her palms on his shoulders,"I…I want you to be my life-mate."

Tranquility sets over them for a second time, both repeating the process of deciphering what has just been said, but this time in the others arms. What she requested is so alien, so strange to him. Yet, he cannot help but feel at ease and welcome by the words. He rises, gently lifting her up in his arms, and he carries her back over to the settee and places her down, kissing her hand as she comes to rest.

"I'll be anything you wish, Kerri," the love-stricken warrior murmurs.

"Parts of it will be very painful."

"Kerri, I don't care."

"The first-"

"Kerrigan, no more excuses. She'll be apples, I promise. Just do what you have to."

A crystal drop streams down her cheek as she rises and slides her hands from his blades down to his lower back. His spine straightens with her touch, but he grins, the sensation a tad erotic. Hopefully, as he had heard those of her race are extremely 'talented' in bed, even if they are virgins, she would perform more graces upon his body. He would, of course, make no objections.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and abruptly drives two sharp fingers though cloth and flesh to his tailbone. The Ginyu jerks forward, grinding his teeth against one another, the memory of a lost sense returning: pain. He can't remember that last time he has suffered dramatically, though the faces of those he wasted were always fresh in his mind. But this… Something was different; instead of only torture, he feels hope. Welling-up from deep within, a primal hope that through the pain, good will come. A heavy groan slips from his lips, and he leans into her. His hands slip from her back down to her buttocks. When he graces her tail, he stops, trying to perceive its movements. To his displeasure, the appendage is swaying too swiftly, twitching fiercely with aggravation.

"If I recall correctly," his mind contemplates, "Grabbing a Saiyan's tail immobilizes their entire body because there are so many nerves in it. But what would happen if I stroked it gently? Would I get the same results?"

Panting hard, as his backside has just gone numb, Jeice rubs the base carefully. Her body suddenly stops, then a full-throated moan escapes her, her heart beat jumping dramatically. Grinning with his payoff, he continues his kneading as she leans into him, seeping into a sodden state of consciousness.

"Jeice…" she growls zestfully, shifting a little, "…More…"

"As…you wish," is all he can manage, massaging harder and faster while his free hand gently tugs. A small, animalistic shriek carries into the atmosphere, as she pulls him closer. Simply forgetting the whole damn practice and filling her thirst for him in his bed right now crosses her mind, but her ethics take hold of her. No, she is not that low; taking a non-Saiyan for her consort is bad enough, and she has herself to blame for the discomfort he will go through. She cannot disregard her place to her people; she must be strong— she must survive.

"STOP!" she screams suddenly, pulling her fingers out and shoving him away. His legs collapse under him, his power completely drained. Catching him, the young woman sighs and holds him in her arms, rocking gently. Calm washes over her; just having him so near makes her feel complete.

"Sleep now," softly orders Kerrigan, kissing the chosen hero on his forehead, "It will be a long flight."

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_**A/N:** Look up "Locusta" on Wikipedia._


	2. Trials and Truth

_**A/N: **Second updated chapter; would have been done sooner, but I actually had a life and went out with friends. Please note, Chapter 3 will probably take longer to update, as it needs a major overhaul. Be aware that in places where actual German is used, I used the proper spelling._

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_**To Root a Saiyan**_

Chapter 2: Trials and Truth

The flame-colored warrior moans. He cannot remember how long he has been asleep, or has been lying on his stomach. In an odd way, the position does not feel so bad, even if he is only on top of material and not his enchantress's body. Turning onto his back, he yelps in pain and rolls back over.

"Shhh…" coos a smooth, warm voice. A delicate hand strokes his cheek softly, comforting him.

"Kerri…?" he mutters in a groggy fashion.

"Kerrigan!" yells another set of vocal, the rustle of a drawn cloth proceding. "Verläßt du hier, du dummes Mädchen! Du weißt besser!"

"Ja, Vati…"

A previously unnoticed weight disappears from beside him; a few minutes later, the movement of hide slips through the atmosphere again.

"Kerrigan!" cries the young man. "Come back!"

"Hold yer horses, boy!" orders the same voice that told the maiden off as something blocks Jeice's light. "Yue're jus' as impatient as my daughter! Now, focus yer senses und I vill explain everything."

Obedient, he starts with the simplest perception: touch. His fingers grip the surface of supple feather-down blankets with velvet pillows lay beneath him, while a silk lies draped over him, all warming his frozen body. The taste of burning timber filters through the air, along with dead embers of meat. A shudder runs down his spine, the air just above him icy from his still presence, and breathes deeply to get his blood moving. With the intake, he tests his smell. Aromas of mint, cinnamon, fresh water, dark earth, and sweat blend amiably together around his head; the dirt and perspiration make the surroundings more masculine, relieving some unknown tension from within. Light and dark finally begin to define themselves clearly to him, though color is still meshed. He yawns, propping himself on his elbows to get a better view of the world around him.

"Take yer time, young Jeice," encourages the individual with him, "Don' rush yerself. Yue hav' gone through much lately."

He breathes slowly, taking in as much air as his lungs can with each inhale. The scene his eyes finally center upon is vivid and astounding: fine cloth adorns most of the deep orange tent and a crackling hearth in the middle casts a strong glow on the encampment. Beside him standts a large, broad shouldered man with a brawny and handsomely tanned face, battle scars and gray whiskers divulging his age and experience. Navy paint decorates his head and chest, while long, colorful feathers, bleached and blackened bones, and strands of beads hang from the belt that is looped through his dark leather pants. In a mission, he would be considered a ruthless barbarian, but the grin stretched between his nose and chin make him appear more of a protector than an oppressor.

"Good evenin'," the warrior greets with a thick, German-like accent, "How ya' feelin', boy?"

"I'd feel better if my Kerri was 'ere," blurts the still-groggy Ginyu, not thinking of the consequences.

The elder roars with laughter and slaps him on the back, knocking him back into the bed.

"Come now," the man continues. "Yue can keep yer pants on till den, can't yue?"

"Why do I have to wait till then!" he shouts. "I can't wait! I'll get Kerri myself!"

With that, he attempts to rise, but falls back down, and grumbles a few choice words out of hearing volume.

"Rest now, boy," instructs the elder as he rests a hand on his back. "Growin' a tail has taken much outta' yue und yer strength vill be greatly needed for t'morrow's rituals."

"A…a tail!" the Ginyu's mouth drops agape.

"Ja, a tail," answers the other. "My daughter thought it vould ve visest dis vay. Deh tribe ist already uneasy wit yue being an outsider."

"But… how?" he questions, still wide-eyed with confusion.

The old brave shrugs his shoulders. "Something about deh hormones females carry. Yue'd have to ask a shaman about it."

"Oh… Wait…" Jeice cocks an eyebrow up to the man. "Who are you, anyways?"

"I am Raynor, Chief of deh Klax Clan," replies the aged male with pride. "My daughter, und only child, has brought yue here to prove yerself vorthy of her hand."

"Speaking of that, you mentioned somethin' about rituals…?"

"Half of deh rights are tests, und during dis time, yue two vill be separated. Depending on how yue finished deh tests, yue und Kerrigan vill be reunited und perform the final customs together."  
He pauses, chuckling to himself, and finishes:

"Den, und only den, vill I approve of yue sharing a bett wit deh princess."

Groaning, the young man throws his face into the mattress, and sighs. All of it would be done for Kerrigan, and he would pass each trial, no exceptions. With this set in mind, he yawns again and drifts back to sleep.

"Ein was für interessanter Junge, dieses Jeice," smiles the chief to himself. " Ich kann sehen, warum meine Tochter ihn mag."

With that he turns and exits, leaving the orange fighter to his dreams. Raising his sights to the stars, the leader sighs, the pending tension washing away… for now.

* * *

"No…" mutters the sleeping alien, "No, Kerri…come back to me…" His hands grip the bed, his breathing quickening from the rushing adrenaline of a bad dream.

"Vake-up!" an unfamiliar voice shouts, flipping Jeice off of his bunk.

"OWWW!" he yells, landing face first on the dirt floor.

"Steht auf! Steht auf! Steht auf!" commands another voice, pulling him up by his forearms and forcing him to his feet as he coughs up a mouthful of dust. He lifts his eyes to see a band of Saiyan males within the tent, a stream of hot light streaking in.

"Come on, come on!" urges the owner of the first vocals. "Yue must fastly move!"

Grabbing him roughly by the arms, the escorts drag Jeice out of the tent into the bright daylight. All men of age and size are rushing about, all carrying the same expression of joy and stress. Many camps are pitched, some in groups, others standing alone, but all in the same dusty brass color. Coming to a large domed shelter decorated with ivory paint, he is drawn forcefully inside. Still others shove him into a tub of steaming red liquid.

"ARE YOU DRONGOS A FEW KANGAROOS LOSE IN THE TOP PADDOCK!" he screams as the fluid burns his skin.

"'Drongo'?" repeats one of them.

"'Kangaroo'?" another follows.

"'Paddock'?" pipes a third. Each wears an expression twisted in confusion.

"Never mind!" he hisses angrily, throwing up his arms. "Just forget it! Oh, how I hate being a blow-in! Now, what is going on?"

"Cleansing," answers one. "It ist… How say yue it? Preparations for deh tests."

"An' my first test is…?"

"Die Feuergrube," he replies non-chanlantly, then smiles. " Yue call it a fire pit. Now, want us to vash you, or can deh Auslander do it himself?"

"Well, I, uhhh…"

The men laugh humorously, slapping of the shoulders with a mixture of encouragement and chaff, and leave together while conversing in their native tongue. Bewildered, the Ginyu just sits in the hot mixture for a minute, trying to piece what had happened. Shaking his head, he climbs back out, removes his soaking black shorts and briefs (where had the rest of his attire gone? Grinning, he hopes a certain beauty removed them while he was asleep), placing them on a nearby rack, and steps back into the bath. A jade cake set beside the basin easily lathers in his hands, the suds smelling of fresh pine as he washes his body and hair, though the color reminds and generates longing of the one who had brought hi here. Oils and spices in the liquid soak into his tangerine skin and shines his lengthy white locks, which are beginning to curl, as he rinses the soap off, while delicate gold towels hung over a velvet chair wait patiently for him.

Finally, the suitor rises out of the tub and thoroughly dries himself off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he starts to search the tent for an outfit, as his other clothes are still drenched and he would think that he would wear something different for such a vital ceremony. He curses after looking everywhere and not finding a shred of clothing, but eyes an odd parchment resting on the chair. Picking it up, as it has caught his interest, he studies the paper over, eager to find something to answer at least one of his inquiries on the situation. His eyes widen as he realizes the drawing beneath the foreign text is a depiction of the first tribulation: first, a young man is shaved of all his hair, excluding his tail, then the same individual walks through a trench filled with a raging inferno, the blazing flames licking above his head, while wearing nothing but his own skin!

"Junger Mann?" calls an aged voice from outside, surprising him.

"Uhh… Come in?" he responds, looking down at his feet as the elder walks in. The elderly Saiyan resembles a hunched ancient oak, with knarled hands grasping a worn cane as he slowly hobbles in.

"Was ist los?" he questions, but then spots the vellum and grins a toothy smile. "Oh-ho-ho, Fret not. Du bist strong, und deh only shaving das ist shown ist," a wise palm rests on his head momentarily, followed by an old index brushing his against his brows, "dein head und eye-brauen. Du vill remove deh rest."

With that, he places a small wooden box in the young male's grasp and shuffles back out. Sighing, the orange warrior removes the dark maroon lid, finding a gleaming blade with amber handle. Biting his lip, he tosses the towel away and carefully removes fine ivory pubic hair. The customs of Kerrigan's people may be strange, but he will do anything to have her, even if it means humiliating himself in front of her entire tribe.

"Jeice?" the chief beckons from outside. "Are yue ready, boy?"

"Comin'," he answers, throwing a drying cloth around his hips and rushes out.

"Vhat are you doin'?" questions Raynor, raising an eyebrow at him. "Take dat thing off."

"But—!"

"It ist tradition. No one vill mind, und der are no females around to see you. Do as yue're told."

Dismally, the Ginyu goes back into the tent and removes the towel, placing it on a chair, and returns to the open. Suppressed laughter of younger males drifts through the area, while little faces peek around corners, and his orange cheeks turn a bright shade of red. He hurriedly follows the elder through the camp, desperate to get some dignity back.

The sand beneath his feet stings his soles and scratches between his toes uncomfortably as he walks into a sweeping region apart from the rest of the settlement. Scattered pine trees drift toward the horizon of the desert prairie. Dark crimson ribbon circles around the ground, designating the land from the rest. Gently, elders push him into the center, each smiling with assurance, for all of them can feel is tension and worry. A crowd gathers on the fringes of the ring, causing his nervousness to escalate, and he shifts uneasily in place. Someone begins to speak in the tongue still so unfamiliar to him, so he closes his eyelids and concentrates on his goal, trying desperately to surmount his fear of failure and loosen his body.

A rough hand taps his cheek. The tangelo shades flick open, his dark chocolate eyes starring into the deep-mahogany pupils of an aged warrior leaning down to look at him. He then straightens and stands nobly above the suitor; but, like Raynor, the ravages of time have also afflicted him by revealing his weariness and stress in the many wrinkles of his face. Something about this Saiyan, though, is different from all the other he has encountered. As the tribesman removes his lengthy cape and draws a long, arced sword from a hidden sheath, it dawns on the young man: the individual's skin would be exactly like his own if it wasn't for the constant sun. All the others, excluding Kerrigan, are dark browns, varying from youth to adult, but this one is of a burnt mandarin. Smiling slightly, he remembers his heartthrob's perfect shade of light cinnamon blended beautifully with a dash of white sugar crystals.

Suddenly, the cold mineral blade presses against his shoulder. It feeling startling him, the grin quickly slips away. Slowly, the arc ascends to his head and curtails a small portion of his hair off the side. Swallowing hard, he gnaws at his lower lip as the rest of his prided mane falls away. When nothing but short wisps remain upon his skull, the sharp edge is drug across his scalp, cleanly shaving him bald, and then ever so gently removes his brows.

"Boy," whispers Klax leader in his ear as the other paces away. "As yue are not of a Saiyan family, und yue need a fahter of our race to complete the ritual, I, ummm, took deh liberty in making an arrangement for dat dilemma."

"Yeah?"

"Well, deh man who just purified yue had to be yuer legitimate sire, und, uhhh, _he_ accepted the honor of, ummmm, in a sense, adopting yue as his son…"

"You're beating around the bush— what's up?"

"He ist, vell, he ist deh chief of my clan's greatest rivaling tribe. But because yue are strong, look like him, und are seeking my daughter's hand, he has taken yue as a child of his. If yue succeed, peace vill be permanently established between us."

"'If'? Oh great, that's comforting."

"Quiet, boy! If yue fail, not only vill yue be disowned und be a given a fate crueler dan death, but our peoples vill go to var because dey vill vish to regain der pride after having it so humiliatingly taken away in a union ceremony by an aus-sider."

Jeice gulps uneasily; suddenly, so much lies upon his shoulders, not simply loosing himself in the princess's embrace. He just has to keep his mind focused on his aim, he reminds himself, just as he had had to do when he was younger and learning to become a warrior. Those days seem so long ago, the time of play and little cares. Yet, inside, he feels that a similar time is dawning. What lies ahead, he cannot tell, but there is no turning back. Moving forward is all he can do to survive whatever awaits him and his blooming essence, held back when he developed into a soldier under Freiza and King Cold's name to show but a mask of maturity. The time of coming of age is now, set before him by the people that are now his own. Raising his head high, letting the noon sun glaze over his complexion, he follows the pious procession onward out of the circle, toward the bleak landscape around them that holds one's future or end and its individual mysteries.

To either awakening or eternal sleep.

* * *

_**A/N:** "Fahter" is spelled intentionally wrong to parallel the German pronunciation of the word, "Vater". This goes for other, more noticeable incidents._


	3. Trial by Fire

_**A/N:** This is the last of the chapters to be revised. All following chapters will be brand new; as such, they may take longer to complete. Tis' that whole "new idea" process._

Chapter 3: Trial by Fire

The relentless sun beats down furiously upon the ceremonial travelers trekking across the wasteland, and, to his frustration, the young suitor is the only one breaking a sweat in the scorching heat. Guessing he should be thankful, as he does not have to wear loads of ritual threads in the merciless, barren environment (which could have been the case), he straightens his posture from his anguished, moping position as the troupe continues. Of course, the face that he is completely nude and exposed to the thrashings of the planet's star does not really set put him in the greatest mood. The burning sands beneath his feet, worse than the ones in the camp both in temperature and texture, the harsh, mocking wind whipping in his face, and the dry, abrasive air irritating his throat and lungs, causing him to hack and cough frequently, only add to his discomfort. Now he just prays that they will hurry up and arrive at the pit so his brain has something interesting to concentrate on before it sizzles away into a crispy, charcoal mash that only understands lustful commands by a Klax princess.

Well, that fate would not be too bad…

With a yawn of boredom, the orange Ginyu scans the area and horizon for the innumerable-time: mounds of dry dirt, more piles of dry dirt, different arrangement of hills of dry dirt, two odd black obelisks, one big heap of dry dirt…

Black obelisks!

Reacting on instincts, Jeice bursts forward, not taking the time to tell the others what he sees, let alone what he is doing. As he leaves the startled and confused assembly behind him, their shouts in many tongues he cannot understand, though even the Universal is rapidly being drowned out by his focused mind. All that is going through his head is the need to be at the trial area, prove his worth to Raynor and the others for Kerrigan, and finally be in the young female's tender grasp without wasting any time that can be spent together. Nothing more, and nothing less, spins through his stream of thought, leaving him to the desert's own tricks (although the sun may have already gotten to him).

Kerrigan. Her name rings sweetly through him as he closes his eyes to view her perfect image, the Saiyan goddess that will hold him close in her gentle span, the one he will throw himself down to her feet, if he prevails in the tasks that lay ahead of him. He imagines the luscious strawberry taste of her lips, the calming touch of her tanned skin, the daring curves of her strong, fruitful body, and the invigorating spark of her enchanting jade eyes. All of the female fills his mind, blocking everything else out. From a simple spurt to a rapid jet he flies, ever nearing to the one he longs, no, aches for, his heart bleeds for, the only being that gives him pleasure, meaning to his existence in either dimension. Desperately, he reaches out to the figure before him, his fingers grasping the air just in front of his Amazon.

"Jeice," murmurs her melodic voice, so much like a chorus of oasis song birds, "Jeice…"

"Jeice, watch out for that-!"

SMACK!

Too late.

"Pillar…" sighs Raynor a few seconds after his could-be son-in-law runs straight into one of the towering ebony structures and falls flat on his back. Shaking his head, the chief and the others quickly rush to his side, the second tribal leader gently lifting his head and wiping off the gore from his nose and mouth delicately.

"A'right?" the aged Saiyan brave asks, concern smothered over his face.

"I'm," Jeice coughs in a daze, a clot of blood being expelled onto his chin, "bonza. W-Who are you?"

"Dat ist right," chuckles Kerrigan's father. "Yue hav' not given 'im yuer name yet."

"Jak," the elder answers, helping the youth to his feet, "of te' Zurous."

"Right," replies the wobbling figure, unsure of himself. "Now, where's th' trial so I can get m' better half?"

A dense pause hangs in the atmosphere as everyone gives him a blank, quizzical stare, causing his new tail to unconsciously twitch with annoyance. He really needs to learn his love's language and its slang…

"WHERE IS THE PIT OF HELL IN WHICH I MUST PROVE MYSELF FOR KERRIGAN!" he yells with rage, breaking the flat silence in the calm wasteland. A collective breath is held, the other males wide-eyed in shock at his out-burst. The Suitor's shoulders shift with tension and his fist tighten in anger.

"Yer arse is oot the windae," blurts an adolescent in black markings beside Jak. A cocky old grin spreads across the Zurousian Chief's face, and he nods his head in agreement.

"Aye," he chuckles, "'ees radge, jus' like us."

A few more join in the leader's laughter, all wearing onyx designs upon burnt orange skin. Jeice smacks his foreheads as he finally realizes that other Saiyans had joined the traveling band, obviously from his adopted tribe. Soon, the stress of the moment dissipates, and the group refocuses on the matter at hand.

"Well, I hope yue enjoyed dat little flight of yuer's, boy," begins Raynor after placing a hand on the alien fighter's shoulder, "as yue won't be doin' it again fur a vhile."

"Why?" he asks with confusion.

"Dhose black spires prevent beings from using increases in…'ki', I dhink yue call it."

"Pig's arse! You're comin' to the raw prawn!" he exclaims in disbelief before catching his cultural slip-up, and quickly back-tracks. "I mean, that can't be right!"

"Den vhy didn't deh dhing break vhen yue ran into it?" poses the elder with a wry smile.

The fact hits the young male like lightning— his forward movement had been completely canceled out once he hit the obelisk. Not only that, his trained subconscious had not even picked up on it being there; normally, even with his brain in another dimension, he would have unconsciously moved around it. As these thoughts pass through his mind, his jaw steadily drops, dumbstruck.

"Who… who made these?"

"M'ancestors," casually replies Jak, a hint of pride rolling off his tongue.

"What are they made out of?" His head, along with the rest of the group's, turns to look upon the aged leader.

The chief shrugs his shoulders and answers, "Do I look like ae shaman?"

The fresh tangerine head hangs itself over his shoulders in dubiety, wondering how he is ever going to survive with beings such as these for family. He sighs and straightens himself back up, fixing his eyes on the other ruler. Nodding his head, the Klaxman pushes him gently around the dark marble structure. The his eyes widen and his mouth hangs agape instantly as he stares just beyond the curve of the desert into the gaping trench below into a wild and furious blaze that rivals that of a red-giant sun, while menacing ash clouds hover dangerously over deep into the inferno, rolling against each other to form their own rainless lightning storm. Eerily, the electric discharge overhead makes no sound, sending shivers down his spine and through his tail. His shocked manner swiftly dissolves into annoyance, though, as a few matters sink in: first, he cannot use his ki to get through the damned abyss; second, a nagging feeling tells him there's something more than fire in there. Great, just great— he must deal with this (and more) in his birthday suit.

He certainly cannot complain about being bored now.

"So, boy," begins Raynor, "vill you back down?"

Slowly, the foreign warrior turns his head to the chief, a cocky smiles spreading across his lips. Sure, he knew this and a thousand more customs like it would be equally alien to him, but **he**, himself, is most likely the first male to ever slip his tongue between his daughter's soft petal lips, and probably the last if he completes all of the tasks he is given (or Raynor finds out and kills him). Either way, the suitor knows a bit more about the princess than her father would care to, or have anyone else be familiar with; to give up now after all this would be totally unlike him.

"For Kerri," he replies, facing the raging fire again. "What do you think this is, bush week? No way am I going to fluke out now and let vultures put me on their barbie. I told 'er things will be apples, and I won't go back on m' word. Besides, you only live once!"

Before can ask him to clarify his little speech, he strides boldly forward, down the natural ramp, and toward the rampant blaze. Declaring his love for Saiyan female and simultaneously leaving the elders baffled with his own native slang floods him with satisfaction, his smile becoming even smugger as he walks into the fire; seeming incensed by the arrogant Ginyu, the fire quickly kills the bearable heat and his superiority over the wild inferno. Beads of sweat blanket his entire body, and his steady breathing changes into a broken pant, but the smile remains— his confidence has transformed into courage, making backing down not an option. As a wall of flames flares up before him, he pauses, closing his eyes to clam his mind and block out his red oppressor. The fire impatiently lashes out at him, but cannot reach any part of him, physically or mentally, as he trails off into the deepest pools of thought: _Kerrigan, my dearest angel, I will do and be anything you ask of me. Though by others' standards, we hardly know each other, m' heart years to see your smiling face. Now I stand 'ere before a pit of devouring element that rivals that of the Underworld's, bent on destroying me and all else that dares to walk through it, but can only dream of being compared to your fiery eyes, and I will use all of my might to cross this and any other agony to be at your side._

With that, he raises a shaking hand cautiously and pushes it toward the blaze, which greedily thrashes out to grab it and force him to think twice about entering its depths. A searing heat greedily licks around his lower arm, burning off the remaining, barely visible hair that covers his flesh. He commands himself to stay there, remembering everything and everyone that is relying on him and the outcome of this pairing with the princess. Then, nothing; all of the stinging pain flees, leaving behind a dense, but weightless, warm liquid-like gas wrapping his limb. At this time he looks straight into the inferno, staring down his adversary, and steps forward. Again, the fire whips and smarts his skin for a few minutes, then disappears, a purified, somewhat unworldly sensation coats his entirety and sinks into his soul. Breathing a sigh of relief that he did not combust, he strides fearlessly through the pit, ever constant of his purpose and his surroundings, least a mere slip incinerate him.

Hours pass, and he begins to think that, in truth, walking on the white coals under the blackened sky is not that bad; out in the desert, the blazing light of the home star would have likely burned him just as well. Jeice raises his left arm a bit, first with his palm up, then turns it over. Normally, without being able to use ki, his skin should burn damage at this point, even with his conditioning. He begins to question the mechanics of it all, but stops and shakes his head— he had to a find a shaman to answer that. Seems a shaman is always needed for such inquiries. Sighing, he wonders how a certain female is doing…

What is Kerrigan up to right now? Is she going through any trials such as him? Is she even thinking of him? Though she had brought him here, as well as shown him signs of affection, she had not done anything definitive. The Saiyan assassin, he remembers, acted very unstable about the subject; she persisted about the trails and pain they might inflict. Did she… did she not have any confidence in him to succeed?

He jerks his head, the doubt throwing him off and letting pain slip in. Attempting to focus once more is futile, as more uncertainties plague his mind, and the leaping flames around him grow. A splitting headache spreads through him as he continually rethinks matters over and over again, weakness simultaneously seeping through his bones. He kneels down, breathing hard. The pain begins to slip under his skin and into his muscles, and understanding strikes him: the fire is feeding off his uncertainties. This trial is not about physical resilience, but mental stamina. No wonder passing through this is a greater feat than crossing any number of deserts (for at least then you can keep your thoughts to yourself); here, the fire reaches down into your very heart and brings your fears to the forefront of your mind. All the ease from the past flees him, the burden of everything slamming against his shoulders and knocking him to the ground. Desperately, he starts to slow his inhales and exhales, trying to keep himself calm. Hesitations must be put away, if he wishes to make it through. He must be strong— this is why he is here, to prove himself!

A mocking laugh drifts through the flames, scorning him to make any attempts at surviving any longer. The warrior pushes it back, putting all of his willpower into seeing his love, the one he is working for. He will not let anything more stand between him and his mate, no matter who is tormenting him now; all he must do is rise and leave.

"Poor dhing," muses a sweet voice dripping with venom. Jeice catches a slithering movement out of the corner of his eye and lifts his gaze; a hazy shadow shifts through the billowing yellows, oranges, and reds. The feminine vocals coo, "Jus' stay down, I vill come to yue…"

The reptilian enunciations put him on edge, but curiosity wins over the male, and he stays in his low position. Gradually, the silhouette comes forth from the flames, solidifying into a gruesome form.

"And so I claim another husband," delightfully hisses a half-humanoid, half-serpent female she materializes before him. Blazing ruby eyes greedily study his figure, and a clawed hand fiercely grips his shoulder. "It is been so long…"

"It will be even longer, then," Jeice replies, knocking away her paw, looking up and giving her a bitter smirk. "I've already been called for."

The demon shifts back, growling angrily, "How dare yue!"

A quick roll saves the warrior from a blow of the naga's black tail, and he is now on his feet, ready for more. The creature coils back, glaring hatefully at him.

"So, you dhink yue've found deh love of yuer life," she bites, brushing back her singed onyx hair. "Pathetic."

"Yeah, an' what would you know?" he smugly retorts.

"Do yue really believe dat yue, an alien— yes, I can smell yuer unworldly stench—, hav' a chance?" she inquires, and then laughs, "Yue are a sad case. Deh female yue pursue das not care fur yue. How could she? All yue hav' dat is remotely Saiyan is dat fake tail!"

The young male grits his teeth uneasily, the doubt returning. Could he really fulfill the princess's wants and needs in a partner? All he knows is how to fight; how could he provide for her? His palms cusp his face, pain pounding through his frontal lobes and eye sockets. He must snap-out of this.

"I don't know," he answers as his hands return to his sides. "I don't know a lot of things. However," he raises his determined auburn eyes to stare straight into the monster's gaze, "I know I care about her, an' I'm not going to give up, especially to the likes of you."

"Why yue!"

Without warning, a blast of fire billows toward him, alive with hatred and intent to make him pay for his words. Closing his eyes, he lets the attack hit him head-on; a moment later, he feels nothing, excluding the beautiful, cleansing sensation. Opening his chocolate pools, he stares straight ahead into the fire. The naga is no where to be seen. Deep within him, he can sense that the end is close by.

"Well, g'bye," mutters the orange combatant with a shrug and half-hearted wave, and turns around and strides onward. Soon, he distinguishes the finish through the blaze, and lowers his head as he sprints through the flames to the darkened earth outside.

"Jeice!" shouts Raynor, racing down the dirt slope to the young man, Jak at his heals, worry covering both their faces.

"Hey," the stunted Ginyu answers weakly with a proud smile before falling to the ground. As the others gather him up and attempt to interrogate him, darkness closes over him, giving him well-deserved rest from this reality in the form of simple, sweet unconsciousness.


	4. Trial by Water

_**A/N:** I am soooo sorry I didn't get this done sooner. I just had major writer's block. I will try to be better with Chapter 5._

* * *

_**To Root a Saiyan**_

Chapter 4: Trial by Water

A heavy mist swirls over a familiar orange head as a deep inhale is drawn into his lips. With a loud, rolling yawn, he flexes and stretches his tired limbs. His fingers brush against stalks of grass covered in dew, and shivers lightly in the cool air before sitting up. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he yawns again and peers about his surroundings: he sits on top of a prairie-hill near the edge of a thick forest; old, stony mountains rest opposite of the woodland, unaware of the morning sun behind them. Besides the calls of the early birds and the buzzing sounds of insects, he appears to be the only being around.

"Fuck…" he exasperates with a whine, and falls back flat against the moist earth. The second trial had already begun.

Rising once more, Jeice fumbles about his immediate area for a clue (they would not leave him without an idea of what he was supposed to do, would they?). He finally grasps a leather cloth and finds a parchment tucked within. IN Universal chicken-scratch, it reads:

Jheese—

Yu art u find yur wait u the centur of the forist. Der, yum us go tru the undurwahter faves. We wil meat yu on the othur side.

With an irritated sigh, he pushes off the ground and stands. His expression perks up when he notices that the hide piece had unrolled into a loin cloth, his hands coming together for a momentary prayer of thanks before he grabs it. A minute later, he is strapped-up and striding into the brush.

Like the field, the foliage is wet from the early morning air; the rich shades of green and various speckles of other hues shine vibrantly in the young light as he passes through. The damp floor gives and sticks to his soles, while fern fronds and tree leaves bounce back against his skin after being parted. The sounds of the waking thicket envelop him, with the chatter of small furry mammals and low, undulating calls of larger ones adding to the winged-beasts' songs. Oddly, nothing seems disturbed by his presence, as if the whole wood knows his reason for being there. This feeling of familiarity refreshes the male's spirit, making him feel no longer like a stranger in an alien world.

A deep grumbling fills his ears, and a hand immediately falls upon his stomach; he has not eaten in days, he remembers. His gut growls again, this time a surging pain.

"Damn…" he grimaces. "Guess I'm gonna' make m' own breakfast…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a rippling blue glimmer. Without thinking, he heads toward it, his primal instinct taking the reigns. His feet lead him to a smooth-pebbled shore of a small river, and his eyes scan up and down its course. Both ends bend around forested corners, leaving him scratching his head for a moment. He then rolls his eyes, as if to say 'duh', and jumps up. To his delight, he stays in the air. After performing an odd celebratory shimmy (the likes of which males are notoriously known for), he jets upward above the tree tops to survey the wood. Ahead of him, he spots a rocky outcropping in the middle of the sea of green, the beginning of the waterway spawning from it.

Without warning, Jeice drops out of the sky. Branches snap and scrape against his skin before he lands harshly on the ground. An angry, hollow rumble reminds him of his states while he rubs his sore rear; there might not be any enchanted spires around, but an empty stomach is just as bad, if not worse, on his ki.

"I better find something quick," he thinks to himself, rising to his feet, "or I'm gonna' pass-out."

Water splashes about his ankles as he trudges up the edge of the bank. His shoulders and tail droop and sway heavily with each step, his hunger, more than ever, driving him onward. What he would not do for a prime-cut steak smothered in spices with a side of crisp greens, topped with lavish dressing, and a tall glass of amber beer…

A silver flick in the air followed by a dazzling shower of blue and white ahead of him catches his eye and perks up his senses— fish certainly was not a bad, either. Picking up the pace, he presses up river. Rushing, crashing water tickles his ears, and soon he sets his sight on a small group of rapids. Arced green, silver, and red fish clamor upstream, fighting the river to spawn. The suitor pauses a moment, reflecting on the creatures' struggle with empathy; he, too, is battling against the current for an uncertain future. Reality quickly snaps back into play when his stomach reminds him he is likely not to die after breeding and that he has not had sushi in some time. He scrambles onto a small ledge overlooking a point in the water's rocky course and focuses his sight below him. Like a bear, he leans steadily over with one paw raised, waiting for the perfect opportunity. His dark pupils scan across the rough surface rapidly; suddenly, his hand jolts down, and—

Like a young bear, he misjudges his weight and face-plants into the water, his meal slipping through his fingers. Incensed, Jeice grapples on all fours after his prey. After tripping and sliding on a medley of bedrocks, the predator's chase is finally rewarded; clenching the tired fish in his teeth, he crawls ashore before ripping out a large chunk of pink flesh. When he finishes, the warrior wears a large, prideful grin and stretches out on the grassy shore.

The earlier escapade had landed him at a small reservoir, presumably near his target destination. The cerulean waters are calm, with a light breeze skipping across the surface. _Hopefully_, muses Jeice to himself,_ there will be more fish within the lake. One certainly doesn't satisfy my appetite._

His brown eyes skirt skim across the lake's surface. The late morning light dances on the rippled glass stage, a few stray leaves lightly drifting around the edges. However, nothing else disturbs the water. The sharp orange nose wrinkles; if he was going to eat any more, he would have to get wet again. Lifting his legs into the air and rolling onto his shoulders, he thrusts himself up off his back and onto his feet. He is soon dashing toward the lake; a few steps more, and he jumps up and dives, a cascade of spray swallowing him into the cool depths below. The clear blue swells gently against him as he rights himself, and the fresh ivory hair on his tail drifts in the subtle current while it curls and sways.

The Ginyu turns his head from side to side, trying to spot his next bite. A flicker of fin in the distance hooks his attention, and he bolts after it. As he swims closer, the end of his target grows larger and larger, though the front remains hidden blending into the environment. With the creature within an arm's reach, he makes a grab for it. The blue fins dodge out of his grasp; tries again, inching closer before reaching out. This time, not only does the tail slips out of his hands, it smacks him upside the face. Gritting his teeth, the mandarin fighter tries a third time. He succeeds, but quickly regrets the attempt. The fish whips him about, dragging him around in tight circles and snaps his back into an arch. Water rushes past his ears as he is suddenly pulled to the surface; moments later he crashes through and is flung through air. He rolls into a heavy landing upon the grassy shore.

"That was a bold move," a light female voice from the lake states irritably from the lake while Jeice staggers back up.

"W-what?" he sputters, spitting out dirt and greenery.

"Oh, come on," it continues. "I would think a royal suitor would have paid more attention to the lore."

"Huh?"

Before his lifted gaze rests a sitting blue-skinned woman with the lower body of the fish he was chasing earlier and finned ears, laid back in annoyance. Her short emerald hair is slicked back by the dripping water, and her sapphire irises on back eyes shine with attentiveness.

"Unbelievable," he breathes and takes a few wobbly steps forward. "Then again, you're not the first Sheila without legs in these parts."

"Well, yeah," she notes with aggravation. "I **am** Hydra."

"… Who?"

The alien mermaid's pupils widen in disbelief, then narrow while a fine brow rises in scrutiny.

"You…" she begins, "are not a Saiyan, are you…?"

He shakes his head in responses, feeling awkward in the world once more.

"Interesting..." she muses, the large fin flicking a bit. A smile spreads across her lips. "You seem… a little battered."

"Yeah," he replies and rubs his head. Today had been unusually rough on him.

"You know a relationship with a Saiyan is just as jostling, right?" she continues, her sharp teeth revealed in a smirk.

"Well… I hadn't really though about it…"

The marine being bursts into laughter, the sound imitating a babbling broke.

"You just dove straight in!" she exclaims. "Oh how rich!"

Now the suitor takes his turn to wear an agitated expression. Folding his arms, he exhales hotly through his nose.

"If you're lookin' to cast doubt on me, I've made up my mind," he states with an edge.

"Oh don't have a sea cow," she retorts cheekily. "Fear is Pyra's department. I am much more refined."

In one fluid motion, she pushes herself off the bank and back into the calm waters. Though irritated, Jeice's curiosity is peeked, and he follows her in. Underneath the surf, the mythical female circles about his submerged form. He tries to keep his eyes on her at all times, but winds up befuddled. Disoriented, he swims to the top, throwing back his head in a gasp for air. The bubbling giggling follows him up, and he abruptly turns around on impulse to face the mockery's owner.

"So, what's your department?" he inquires with a wary eye.

"Water is the element of emotion," she casually answers.

"You toy with men's hearts, then?"

"_If_ you wish to see it so crudely," she bites, turning her back on him in a huff, "and _if_ I wish to deal with them."

Feeling cocky, he shrugs his shoulders and jeers, "So I guess I'm done with this trial."

Without warning, she whips around and he finds five needle-like claws in his neck. He gags and coughs dryly as a hot, stinging sensation trickles into his flesh and down his throat. A cruel chortle twists about his head as his wide-eyes meet the beast's hard stare.

"I never said I wouldn't, alien," coldly states the lake monster with a sadistic smile. "There are many ways to break a male, not just temptation. And from the look of things, you're a truth man."

"Pyra… already… questioned… me," he gasps, struggling to pull her hand off him. "An' no… matter… what… Kerri… thinks of… me… I'm not… giving… up…"

"Who said anything about _her_ feelings?" she heartlessly retorts with her ears perked in amusement. He can feel the quick bends and flicks of her tail by the vigorous vibrations in the water hitting against his feebly treading legs. "I was thinking more along on the lines of _yours_…

"As I said before, a life with a Saiyan is neither simple nor sweet. You will be lead into a false sense of comfort, teased, and battered by what you desire. In the end, you are left tossed aside, out of breath, and still hungry. Oh sure, you may care about her, but is any female worth so much hassle? Do you really love her?"

His lips shake open, raspily inhaling to speak, yet nothing but a weak exhale escapes him. A pointed black tongue slides across dark green lips before the creature presses him further:

"You really did just jump in, didn't you? You hardly know her at all, don't you? You're only here because of lust… No, not just that, you're here because of pride: you don't want to back down from this challenge."

Jeice bites his tongue as he feels her drive a nail through his body. She is right─ he is here for the challenge, something he has not had in years and longs for. How did she know? As if reading his thoughts, Hydra continues cynically, "You males are all the same. You get so caught up in the physical trials of life that you totally neglect the emotional and mental aspects. So tell me, suitor, why do you waste your time with a long-term relationship when a short-term is easier? Is the challenge that great to you? Are you willing to risk other's feelings for the sake of your own delight?"

"No…!" he coughs, though unsure of his reason behind the answer.

"Then why are you here! Do you honestly love her!" she hisses, unrelenting in her assault.

"Yes…!"

"Why!"

"Because…because…" he wheezes while his fingers hopelessly slipping over her lodged digits. There was that question again─ why did he love her? The Saiyan female posed it to him once before, back at his flat. In his mind, he can taste the rich fruit flavor of her lips on the tip of his tongue from their first kiss and smell the flora aroma of her dark mane from the first time he held her close. These rich, natural accents are unique to her, along with her calm, yet head-strong demeanor. Females of his status usually wear excessively sweet scents and taste of icing variations, in addition to sporting masks of make-up and shallow personalities. Kerrigan is nothing like that; she is real, bold, and─

He inhales deeply, his neck free from barbs. The hand that was once clasped tightly around his throat now rests on his shoulder, and the hardened antagonist is gone, replaced by a calmly smiling mermaid.

"You better get moving," she nods with a fluid pat. "You need to follow the feeder river to the lake up to the cave. A little ways in, a spring bubbles up through a drop in the floor; you'll need to dive straight down and follow the rock tube for a ways, but the opening will be obvious."

"…That's it?" Jeice asks, a bit flabbergasted by her sudden change. "But… why?"

"Figuring out why you love someone is hard enough," she answers. "And I've had my fill of entertainment today."

With that, her form changes, her solid features melting into liquid, and she descends into the lake in a crash of water. The ginger male splashes backwards, shaking his head rapidly in disbelief; he rubs his eyes, making sure they are focused correctly, before looking around him. She really did dissolve before him. Remembering her words, he paddles to the back of the lake and climbs onto the bank. Wiping off what excess water he can, he turns his sight back to the lake to gaze upon its gentle surface. A light breeze skips across the surface, and, as he is about to turn away, it carries up a familiar bubbling laugh to his ear. He smirks, and then bows in the universal sign of respect.

"Thanks, Hydra," he murmurs. "I needed that lesson."

Straightening, the warrior turns and walks onward to his goal.


End file.
